


My brother's big fat interspecies wedding

by yesfir



Series: Species Swap Boogaloo [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Chaos, Established Relationship, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Family Shenanigans, Fluff and Humor, Genderfluid Eridan Ampora, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, Karkat Vantas/Sollux Captor Blackrom, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pale Jake English/Eridan Ampora, Species Swap, Trolls on Earth (Homestuck), Wedding Fluff, Weddings, aunts, cute shit, just unmitigated chaos, this is a mess lmfao, wedding chaos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28827810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yesfir/pseuds/yesfir
Summary: TG: r u bein specieist dirkTT: I am being sorely tested, is what I am. There’s just an unholy fuckton of people here already, and the most chaotic elements haven’t even turned up yet.GG: I still think you’re exaggerating. Your family certainly is unconventional, but not nearly as bad as you’re making it out to be.The beautiful, heartfelt tale of Dirk Strider trying to survive his big bro's wedding to the love of his life, and in particular the interspecies clusterfuck that is the wedding party. But at least he has his stalwart matesprit/boyfriend by his side! Admittedly Jayquh has no idea how weddings are supposed to go or how one would reasonably go about outlasting them, but he can probably figure it out as he goes along... right?(Includes a full cast of terrifying aunts, two supportive friends, a pyromaniac best gal, two neurotic grooms, an overpowered kismesis of honor, a high-strung diva, and a chaotic chorus of delightfully terrible personalities galore.)
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas, Jake English/Dirk Strider, June Egbert/Vriska Serket/Terezi Pyrope, Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam
Series: Species Swap Boogaloo [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2107203
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	My brother's big fat interspecies wedding

_ Jayquh _

Your name is Jayquh Egnlij, and today you are attending the wedding of your beloved matesprit’s beloved brother, and also the wedding of your beloved moirail’s old art school friend – and they’re both the same wedding! You think that’s rather neat, since you don’t have to get dressed up for a great occasion twice, and also because they’re both in fact great chaps who you care about a lot. Karkat might be a rather abrasive and loud fellow, and at first you’d been taken aback by how he always seems to be a little angry about absolutely everything, but with time it’s become clear to you that he is in fact just a bit on the bashful side. All the haranguing and noise is just a way of covering up how much he cares, which happens to be a whole damn lot.

Dave, of course, is one of your big idols, and on top of that an all-around swell guy. He’s certainly a tricky guy to understand at times, and you find him a bit hard to keep up with, not always being up to snuff on the very latest human ironies and all. But you know that he loves Dirk and is basically the most important person in his life, and that’s all that really matters. You don’t have to understand exactly how human families work to think that’s absolutely beautiful.

In the same vein, you’re sure you don’t have to understand every jot and tiddle of what marriages actually entail to have a jolly great time at a wedding. So you’re feeling mighty chipper as you right your bow tie and stuff the fancy napkin that apparently goes into the breast pocket in there. It doesn’t look exactly like it does in the image on the box, but oh well, you’ve never been too fussy about details anyway.

By the sound of the sharp, admonishing hiss behind you, you are completely unsurprised to find that this opinion isn’t shared by everyone present in the room.

“What are you _doin_?” A hand appears and gives your fingers a stinging slap. “Don’t touch that. Come on, turn around and let me do it already, since you’re determined to make a fuckin mess a it.”

You don’t argue, only roll your eyes with good humor and obediently swivel around, allowing your moirail to tug the pocket square out. His fingers move in a blur, and like a magic trick the little piece of fabric is suddenly neatly folded and sliding back into your pocket with a lot more precision than you’d employed. “You’re an indispensable help as always, my camellia darling,” you gush, and delight in how he blushes all the way to the tip of his fins, because though you’ve been going pale for quite a while now, the prickly idiot still hasn’t learned how to take a compliment at all.

“I wouldn’t have to be if you could just learn how to dress like a civilized person,” he gripes, fussing with your collar and sleeves.

“I know,” you say, nudging him with your elbow. “Maybe that is my master plan, you ever thought about that, you old grouser?”

“Obnoxious,” he says and rolls his eyes, but that’s practically an endearment coming from him. Once you’re put together enough to no longer be outright offensive to him, he spins around with a sigh. “Zip me up.” You oblige, carefully sliding the zipper of his gown while bracing it with your other hand, because you know that he’ll give you a hard time if it snags even slightly. “Anyway, if that’s the case, maybe you could at least do a little in the way a helpin me, and not leave _me_ to have to figure out the dress code for your matesprit’s aunt’s wedding.”

“His brother,” you supply helpfully, “though legally I suppose he’s in fact his f-”

“Oh whatever,” Eridan snaps, and you see him rolling his eyes in the mirror. “The point is _I_ had to call your matesprit and ask, which was so fuckin awkward for both a us. All because the only thing my moirail could tell me me was that it was, and I quote, ‘a fancy do’ and that we just needed ‘a bit of the ole razzle dazzle’ to not make complete spectacles of ourselves.”

You shrug, untwisting one of his shoulder straps. “Well, I’ve never known you not to be able to dress nice for a shindig, my hyacinth.”

“That’s not the point.” He turns around so he can give you a properly exasperated look. “I know I have plenty a nice clothes that’ll make whatever those humans are wearin look like rags, and that’s the problem. Overdressin is just as bad as turnin up with your spinal crevice halfway outside your leg coverin a choice.”

“You know, I’ve got to say I’ve never actually-”

“Not for lack of tryin,” he counters darkly, and you laugh, gently pulling him into a quick hug.

“Now now, palest, you don’t actually have to go losing your blouse and waistcoat like this. There’s nothing to be fretting about! It’s just a nice get-together that human families have because they like each other.”

“Yes,” he mumbles, trying to maintain his haughty tone, but the tension in his voice sounds like the brittle edge of broken glass, ready to snap into further shards at the least provocation. “And we ain’t actually no one’s family, now are we, Jay? I mean, I understand it’s appropriate to bring a- a ‘friend boy’ or whatever the stupid term is, but I’m not nothin of the sorts to them, and as for _likin_ me-”

“No no, see, it absolutely works by your own logic! I’m there as Dirk’s romantic partner, and you’re there as mine, aren’t you? I think that’s only good sturdy sense, angelfish, so don’t get your fins in a twist.”

“They won’t see it like that,” he mutters peevishly, face planted against your chest. “They’ll think I’m your _friend_. Your very good friend.” He lets out a displeased little hiss. “That’s all they think moirails are, you know.”  
You grimace slightly, not about to debate the finer points of human prejudices toward trolls and vice versa with him right at this moment. It’s not like he doesn’t have a point, but he also isn’t exactly known to be very generous toward humans himself. “I’m sure no one will think anything of the sorts,” you murmur diplomatically, “but if they do, I’ll be sure to tell them they’re wrong, post haste! Now, I don’t want to seem like a wet blanket, but you’re going to smudge your make-up if you stay there and I know you’ll blame me if it ends up on my shirt, so...”

He snorts impatiently, but nonetheless straightens up. He looks himself over in the mirror briefly, making sure that nothing catastrophic has happened during his very brief moment of weakness, straightening his necklace of pink coral beads. Then he tilts his head back and forth, clearly contemplating himself carefully. You’re already waiting for your little signal even before she taps you gently on the shoulder. You smile, offering her your arm. “Now, do stop fussing like the oyster that swallowed a whole pebble already, precious, or we’re going to be late.”

She sighs, but there’s a the slightest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “You don’t get to talk to me about bein late either, Mr Oh-but-let-me-tell-you-about-this-dog-I-met-while-you-were-waitin-at-the-restaurant-for-me.”

“Never going to let that one go, are you?”

A rare grin, there and gone in a flash. “Never.”

_ Dirk _

TT: Please tell me you’re on your way.

TT: It’s fucking bedlam over here, I’m going to need backup.

GG: I’m sure it can’t be that bad, Dirk. Aren’t you being a little bit dramatic?

TT: There are at least five people being dramatic here at the present moment, and none of them is me.

TT: I’m just trying to keep my head down and survive, like a man stranded at the front, but unless some kind of supply line of sanity is established soon I will in fact perish. You will arrive only to cradle a dying comrade in your arms, as I beg you in a broken whisper to tell Jayquh that I won’t be coming home for Christmas after all, but I love him very much.

TG: lmao youre bein sooooooo dramatic

TT: Well, since Jane seems determined to paint me in such a light, I thought I should at least try to really sell the bit.

TT: But seriously are you going to be here soon?

TG: y. were sittin here in this uber gettin closer as we speak

TT: When?

GG: We’ll be there in circa twenty minutes, you big baby. Which is perfectly within time, if not on the early side. I think you can manage to greet guests and be passably pleasant in the meanwhile, can’t you? Good heavens, it’s not like it’s your wedding.

TT: No, but it’s still my batshit pseudo-family, and on top of that the whole complicated web of troll social structures means that I am slowly losing my mind keeping track of the plus ones, plus twos, +1+1’s (which isn’t the same as a plus two, btw), all the way to +~(∀𝑥,𝑝(𝑥))⇔∃𝑥:~𝑝(𝑥)s and beyond.

TG: lmfao first of all that doesnt even make sense, that’s a logic thingy

TG: formula

TT: I am aware, yes. I was attempting humor, as unbelievable as it might seem.

TG: secondly before you dragged de morgan into this you were kinda starting to sound a bit specieist

TG: r u bein specieist dirk

TT: I am being sorely tested, is what I am. There’s just an unholy fuckton of people here already, and the most chaotic elements haven’t even turned up yet.

GG: I still think you’re exaggerating. Your family certainly is unconventional, but not nearly as bad as you’re making it out to be.

TG: yea they’re cool

TT: You say that because you’ve only experienced them in carefully measured dosages and under strictly controlled laboratory conditions. They’re quite different in the wild.

TG: omg u make em sound simultaneously like hazardous materials & wild animals

TG: somehow flinging shit @ u and exploding simlu simulti fuuuck at the same time

TT: It’s an evocative image, but I raise you this: Flinging explosive shit.

TG: oh SNAP

GG: Well, now we’re about seventeen minutes away, so you’re just going to have to dodge the projectiles for a little while longer. Please just put your big boy pants on if you haven’t already, stop staring down into your phone, and go talk to the guests!

TT: Ice cold, Jane. But fine.

Well, you don’t actually go talk to the guests gathering outside. But you at least leave your room, where you’d taken a brief tactical refuge to message your friends. You’d tried to refer to it as a guest room when you’d arrived a couple of days ago, and both Dave and Karkat had stared at you as if you’d suggested some sort of bizarre act of profound sexual deviancy involving a mollusk and a gallon of sour cream.

“The fuck are you talking about, bro? The guest room’s down the hall.”

“...Riiight. And this is the _second_ guest room, as evidenced by me being a guest and staying in it.”

“Of course it’s not the ‘second fucking guest room’,”Karkat had been kind enough to mimic the quotation marks at you, and you didn’t point out that those seemed to imply that he was quoting you verbatim, which he clearly wasn’t. You weren’t actually trying to make your big bro’s soon-to-be husband loathe the very sight of you, even if it would be way, _way_ too easy to do so, and maybe a little bit hilarious. “There is no second guest block, shartsponge. It’s yours.”

“Yeah, so you won’t have any excuse not to visit,” Dave supplied, grinning. You gave him a flat look.

“Dude, I think you might be confusing the suburbs with the darkest depths of savage Great Britain or something. The former, which is where you’ve just moved by the way, is in fact not many months of hard journeying by land and sea away from California. In fact, and I think this is gonna blow your mind, we haven’t even left the state, and I live less than an hour away.”

“Don’t be a little shit,” he’d said easily. “The point, since you’re so damn hellbent on being obtuse about it, is that you’re a part of this family and we want you here. Don’t forget it.”

You hadn’t known what to say or feel in response to that, and you still don’t. But walking through Dave’s and Karkat’s quaint new suburb home makes you feel like a stranger who just wandered in off the street, an actor finding himself inside an unfamiliar set; someone who definitely doesn’t belong there, who doesn’t fit this into this script, regardless of what the two of them might want. It’s melodramatic, of course you know it is. Like you’d said, it’s not even far from your new flat, and you are in fact rather excited to have your own space now, where you don’t have to still feel a little bit self-conscious every time your boyfriend is coming over… and _also_ won’t have to hear Karkat’s version of trying to keep it down in bed quite so often. Like holy shit the dude is loud all the time, so it hadn’t come as a surprise, but that doesn’t mean you’re not deeply traumatized by the experience.

However you might feel about it, whatever self-indulgent neurosis you’re currently going through, you’re determined not to let it show. Dave _deserves_ this happiness, and besides, you’re absolutely not going to do the whole petulant kid with a new stepmother routine. Fuck no. That shit would’ve been beneath your dignity when you were _five_ , and it definitely is now, over eighteen years later.

Averting your eyes from the empty room that’s going to be their kid’s once the adoption papers are in order, your sternly tell your insecurities and abandonment issues that if this is how they’re going to behave, you’re absolutely not bringing them along the next time your brother gets married to the love of his life.

“Does this look okay?”

At the sound of Karkat’s voice, you stop a couple of steps from the door it had come from. Standing where you are, you can see a narrow sliver of him reflected in their bedroom mirror, tugging uncomfortably at his bow tie and looking like he’d gratefully hulk right the fuck out of his tux if he only had the required swoleness for such a maneuver.

“Who am I, your fucking moirail?” comes the waspish reply from somewhere inside the room. Karkat looks up, eyes narrowing sourly.

“Could you stop being such a festering nookleisure for a moment and just tell me, alright?”

“That’s not what you keep me around for,” Sollux quips, which is honestly fairly reasonable. But he descends from wherever he’d been hovering only a moment later, tilting his head critically as he surveys the shorter troll. “Could be worse. I mean, you look like a fucking idiot, obviously, but that’s just what your face is always like. The clothes can’t be blamed.” He giggles smugly, and Karkat chitters at him in a petulant fashion, before pulling him down for a kiss which honestly only seems rough to a purely perfunctory degree, and lingers for several seconds. You grimace. Honestly, you don’t pretend to be an expert on troll culture at all, but you’re pretty sure this guy is basically the only person in history who’d genuinely think that having his kismesis in the room while getting dressed for his wedding is a good idea.

You hadn’t been sure how to approach the subject tactfully with Dave, but once you managed to awkwardly sidle up to it about half a year ago, he’d been surprisingly unbothered by the whole thing. Not saying you think he’s this big traditionalist or anything, but the man can get neurotic about the most insignificant little things, so you’d kind of figured this would be a sensitive topic. Well, apparently not. Even though Karkat is honestly kind of weird, not just for a troll but for a person in general, and therefore doesn’t seem to have a single genuinely vicious bone in his scrawny body, but still claims that he and Sollux are strictly a blackrom couple. You have a hard time buying that; you’ve seen how they act together, and you’re not actually sure lowkey bickering like a married couple can be said to count as a proper rivalry. Again, it’s not _your_ culture, you don’t really get a say in it, but you’ve seen other trolls raise their eyebrows around them as well, so you don’t actually think you’re too far of the mark.

But Dave had just laughed when you brought up these concerns, albeit in much more vague terms, lifting one shoulder in a relaxed quasi-shrug. “Yeah, I mean, that’s what he’s like, With everyone. I talked to his ex, and she said that she broke up with him because he basically can’t keep his quadrants from bleeding into each other, and he got his constant background paleness all over moments when it was a definite bulge kill for her.”

“Well, I can’t say I- Wait, you talked to his ex? Who’s his ex?

“Oh man, I guess you didn’t hear about that. You’ll laugh when I tell you.”

You didn’t actually laugh, but you sure raised your eyebrows. “Does she actually get to talk?”

“I think that’s different,” Dave said vaguely, waving your question away. “Anyway, I’m really not worried about it. It’s a bit funny though, because when he first heard Karkat talk about me, Sollux got kinda jealous of _me_ , thinking maybe it was a blackrom thing from the way he was complaining.”

“...Complaining is Karkat’s ground state of existence.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said too. But the point is, that’s just how he is, and that’s okay. It really doesn’t fucking matter which quadrants we’re in, because that’s not going to make him love me any less. He doesn’t run out.” He’d smiled such a disgustingly happy smile that you’d considered giving him a hard time about it, but you didn’t actually wanna kill his buzz. “As long as he wants me too, I could care less. God’s truth. They’re their own thing, and I get along just fine with Sollux, so...”

He’d shrugged again, and only a couple days after that he’d ended up proposing to Karkat, so you suppose he was telling the truth. After only eight months of dating, too. Way to be a lesbian about it, but honestly you can’t say you’re surprised. You wouldn’t even have been surprised if he’d done it after the first week. Dave had really fallen _hard_ for the shouty little weirdo.

Also, if you’re to be honest, maybe putting Dave on the spot about it was a bit hypocritical. _He_ likely thought so. You could tell from the looks he’d been giving you during your conversation, as if he was waiting for your questions about Sollux to lead to the _real_ reason you wanted to talk. Except you didn’t really want to talk about that at all.

Anyway, it’s a completely different situation. It isn’t as if your boyfriend is _fucking_ someone else, and considering Jayquh’s firmly stated feelings on the whole subject of blackrom, it seems really damn unlikely that he ever will. Which… yeah, that’s good, you’re not actually sure you could accept something like that. Not to judge anyone else, but you know yourself, and having to compete with someone else over his attention in that area would get ugly real fast. It’d be inevitable, really, because the problem is that it’s not _supposed_ to be a competition in the first place. But you know you wouldn’t be able to help yourself.

So yeah, you’re grateful that Jayquh just isn’t interested. He’s perfectly fine with flirting with the line to more torrid stuff with you, a contentious push and pull which never escalates into anything worse than a couple of bruises and some truly impressive love bites. He can even push it a bit further than that, if you allow him to be completely in charge – and you certainly don’t mind that – but that’s as far as it goes. You’re pretty sure that if he was faced with _real_ antagonism, he’d either fold like wet cardboard or fight back with the full ferocity of a cornered animal, with nothing in between.

As for his moirallegiance, a.k.a. Jayquh basically being married to someone else, minus the sex… That’s not a problem. It’s kind of like getting to enjoy the uncomplicated passion of having an affair, but without ever having to worry about discovery, and no inconvenient conflict of interest between the three parties concerned. Not to mention, loath as you are to admit it, maybe it’s good for the both of you to have an outside factor which automatically establishes some boundaries, preventing you from monopolizing his time completely and slowly poisoning him against yourself by being a needy, selfish disaster.

You lean against the wall, tuning out Karkat and Sollux trading casual insults, because you’re not really interested in hearing them sweet talk each other more than necessary. If you’re having any problem with the current arrangement at all, it’s not that Jayquh has a moirail in and of itself. You’re not even bothered by how they genuinely _do_ act like a married couple, or how you’re still figuring out which kinds of physical intimacy are considered completely normal and non-sexual between them, and which would be unthinkable. Jayquh seems amused that you seem to feel a need to mentally catalog something that is so intuitive to him, but you tell yourself that it’s because you’re trying to gain some perspective... and not to stop yourself tensing up at some of their displays of affection.

Hugs, non-tongue kisses on any PG areas – hands, cheeks, lips, shoulders, and so on – massaging, more casual touching and occasional manhandling, and quite literally _dressing_ each other are all examples of quite acceptable physical contact. As the latter implies, they’ll also apparently walk around stark fucking naked and not be bothered by the other’s presence. This is jarring to you, since even just a couple of these behaviors taken together between two humans would _definitely_ mean they’re fucking, at least in your book. You’re slowly getting used to it, but it’s a work in progress.

Then again, some of the things they _won’t_ do for quadrant reasons seem completely innocuous. While grappling is fairly often heavily involved in active pacification, play wrestling outside of this appears to be off limits – as seen by their incredibly confused and mildly scandalized looks when you and Dave had a brief scuffle over the last enchilada. Touching each other’s horns is another, to the point where when Jayquh got his tangled in a tree branch while walking by, Eridan had taken a step back and raised his hands the moment he understood the situation, asking you stiffly to ‘deal with it’. You didn’t _mind_ as such, but he was in _six inch fucking heels,_ on top of being taller than you out of them, so it would’ve been a lot more practical for him to do it. To avoid pulling half the tree down on top of the both of you, Jayquh eventually had to lift you up so you could see what the fuck you were doing.

All of it is very confusing and alien to you, is the point, but the main problem still has nothing to do with that.

It’s just that Eridan is an obnoxious twat, and they’re kind of an inevitable constant in your life now. That’s all.

Having inadvertently jumped from brooding over one unpleasantly complicated topic right onto another, you seriously contemplate taking the mass of screaming insecurities stacked on one another masquerading as your body back to your bedroom again and lurking there until your friends arrive. You know it’s the coward’s way out, but fuck, if you can’t leave your brain unsupervised for three fucking seconds without returning to it not so much gazing into the abyss as playing fucking hopscotch on the edge, maybe you shouldn’t be allowed around the place until you have Jane and Roxy as safeguards to stop you from moping.

...Wait, shit, is _this_ what people need moirails for? You… really don’t know how to start unpacking that idea, so instead you idly tip the whole cursed suitcase into the previously mentioned abyss. Time enough to go diving for that later.

You’ve just about decided that yeah, maybe you should just ground yourself for another 10-15 minutes or so, when you suddenly head the front door slam open with a loud BANG that seems to rattle the house and probably left a mark on the brand new wallpaper. Inside his and Dave’s room, Karkat yelps and drops something. You’re certain you’d heard no door bell or even a knock, which makes you all but convinced that it’s-

“ _We’re heeeeeeeere_!”

Oh shit. Shit shit shit. You abandon all thought of refuge, it’s time to do damage control stat, while the house is still standing and no one is murdering anyone. As you rush past the half-open door, you nod at Karkat’’s expression of frozen panic and tell him, “I’ve got this, don’t worry about it,” and manage to catch a brief flash of his face sagging into relief before you’re past, and the door slams shut in your wake.

You sprint all the way across the house toward the small hallway, only coming to a screeching halt right before you’re within eyeshot of the door. Then you saunter around the corner as if you hadn’t just rushed over like Superman after hearing someone yell ‘ _we are definitely going to die in this train crash if a man in spandex doesn’t save us_ ’. You walk in on a scene of unmitigated chaos, but that’s only to be expected. Your job right now is to make sure it doesn’t spread.

“Wow Vriska,” Auntie June looks mildly frazzled and put-upon, but goodnaturedly so, “I’m pretty sure breaking the door is basically the shittiest wedding present ever, so maybe we shouldn’t be doing that?”

“Oh, _whatever._ Us being here should be enough of a gift anyway, it’s not like those two could possibly have a party that isn’t a total snore without some help.” She drops her jacket on the ground, or would’ve, except June deftly catches it, rolling her eyes at one of the walking disaster areas she had decided to shack up with. Then _she_ just tosses it vaguely into the entryway closet without even looking, clearly focused on finding somewhere to set down the stack of boxes she’s balancing on her other hand, presumably the actual wedding presents. Terezi, on the other hand, is leering right in your direction, her pumpkin grin full of needle teeth and unbridled glee.

“Where’s the fire, dear sweet nephew? Or were you just so eager to see your aunties that you ran all the way here?”

Too late you realize that being out of eyeshot is meaningless as far as she’s concerned, and that there’s no way she didn’t just hear you galloping headlong through the house in a panic. Thank god for your impenetrable poker face, which at least doesn’t show exactly how much you wish you could be engulfed by the floor beneath your feet. She’ll still know that’s what you’re thinking, of course, but she can’t _prove_ it. “Obviously the latter,” you reply, raising one eyebrow. “I’ve already got my adult diaper on, so when I piss myself in excitement you won’t even notice.”

She snorts. “Remember whose nose you’re talking to, kid.”

“Also that was so gross, what the hell?” June laughs, shoving a piece of ironic movie memorabilia off a marble pedestal Dave had insisted on putting smack in the hallway, and setting down the pile of presents. “C’mere already, you little weirdo.”

You could kick up a fuss about it, and that’d make you come off like a recalcitrant teenager, so instead you submit to being hugged and kissed on the cheek. “Hey Auntie June,” you say. “Aunt Vriska. Aunt Terezi.” Despite aunts distinctly not being a Thing that trolls give a shit about, they both insist on the titles, and that’s just not the hill you’re prepared to die on. “Nice to have you here, shit wasn’t nearly disastrous enough already.”

“Hey, we haven’t seen you in almost a year, is that the best you can do?” June doesn’t sound even remotely upset; she’s snickering like a teenager who just heard a mildly dirty joke. “I’ll tell Dave about your lack of effort.”

“I’m not sure I want to hear that from the woman wearing Birkenstocks to a wedding, on-brand or not.”

“...You know, he kind of _has_ a point,” Vriska says, elbowing June out of the way and heading into the house. You quickly disentangle yourself from any further auntly affection and hurry to keep up with her. Behind you, you hear June mutter a quiet ‘yikes’, which means she’s going to try to be on your side in this, and a cackle from Terezi, which could mean anything. Most likely she’s just along to metaphorically eat popcorn and enjoy the show.

“Hey, Aunt V, people are still getting ready and stuff, so there’s not much going on in here.” You know there’s no point in trying to appeal to her better nature, because she only has one when she wants to, so instead you try to zero in on her 0.0005 second boredom treshold. “We’ve got drinks and snacks outside in the garden, and I’m pretty sure Aunt Rose and Aunt Kanaya are already there, so-”

“Woooooooow, yeah, sounds like a snoozefest,” she cuts you off, waving a hand dismissively over her shoulder. “Anyway, I’m _sure_ ‘getting ready’ just means standing around dithering like lame losers instead of actually getting a move on. Sounds like they need someone to get their asses in gear.”

Well, you can’t actually say she’s wrong, but you’re also absolutely certain that her charging in there isn’t going to make anything better. Neither groom is someone who reacts well to having extra pressure applied to them in an already stressful situation. So you put on an extra burst of speed and overtake her, blocking her path down the corridor as politely as you can manage, which probably isn’t very… but fuck it, she’s got no high horse to get on about that. So you plant yourself as a one-man barricade, thinking that at least being markedly shorter than her means you’ve got a lower center of gravity.

“Okay, I hear you, but… shit, just let them dither, alright? It’s their wedding day, they get to act as stupid as they’d like for one day, that’s basically the fucking rules of weddings. And I can’t take the goddamn fallout of all those emotions they’re nursing like sweet babes in arms finally getting a target in the form of you. They’ll bring out the biggest baby cannon they’ve got and fire all those wobbly, wailing emotions at will, and let’s be real their aim probably ain’t shit – which is exactly the kind of mayhem I really don’t need on top of everything else. So just… back the hell up and go out and torment the other guests for a bit.”

She raises her eyebrows at you, with the same dangerous tension as she does everything, but you can tell there’s at least a twitch of amusement around the stark blue lipstick and brief gleam of fangs. “Oh, _fine_. It’s not like I want to hear either of them talk about all their mushy feelings anyway.”

“You really don’t, trust me,” you agree, starting to herd her back to the hallway again, a process which is complicated by her two girlfriends having followed you and now blocking the corridor. You just push through, giving up on any kind of subtlety as you simply attempt to shove all three aunts down the corridor. Not a bad strategy, except it allows Terezi to suddenly tilt her head over her shoulder and take a very pointed sniff of your hair.

“I like you new _fashion statement_ , Mr Lavender Ice Cream,” she says delightedly, the slant of her smirk showing that she’s guessed _exactly_ why you’ve taken to dyeing your hair violet, and that fashion doesn’t enter into it. It’s just that if you do it on purpose, you don’t feel quite as self-conscious about it. It was either that or start wearing a shower cap every time you have sex, and you’re just too fucking vain to seriously consider the latter. You _had_ kind of hoped that the change would fly under the radar, or at least that no one would make the connection since the three of them all have their natural black hair, but you suppose that’d be too much to hope for. Terezi’s nose appears to be especially attuned to sniffing out anything that might potentially embarrass someone else to death.

“Thanks. I like it,” you say, because you’ll be damned if you’ll give her the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. “Now just leave anything you need to in here and get your asses outside already, okay?”

“June, where the fuck did my jacket go?”

“Oh, it’s uh… in there, somewhere.”

A groan and a pair of dramatically rolled eyes later, Vriska stomps forward and dives into the closet like a very small but unusually destructive tornado. She’s in a glittery grey dress and cerulean corset, paired with thigh-high red boots, and the jacket she eventually pulls out with a triumphant little whir is also red, with white racing stripes running along the arms. June is in a fancier version of her usual summer combo – i.e. hippie skirt, sandals and denim shirt – and Terezi is in a fucking impeccable suit which you to your great chagrin cannot find fault with at all. Together they probably represent the most unlikely fashion plate possible, but somehow it works. It’s all very Them.

Feeling like you might actually be accomplishing what you set out to do with a minimal amount of fuck-up, you’re still nudging them all toward the door when it flies open again. “Ahoy in there, we’re- Oh, there you are, schnookums!” Before you can react, you’re swept up in Jayquh’s strong arms, and he plants a loud kiss on your cheek.

“If you’re goin to indulge in embarrassing displays like that, can you at least get out a the fuckin door already?” Eridan gripes behind him. Your aunts are all grinning and glancing at each other – you know that even without twisting out of Jayquh’s affectionate headlock to look. You can _feel_ them grinning. Oh joy. It’s all going to go downhill from here, isn’t it?

_ Jayquh _

If – despite all your assurances to Eridan – you’re feeling just the slightest bit snug around the gills now that you’re actually here, you’re determined to do your very damndest not to show it. Phooey says you to your own neurotic malarkey, there’s no reason at all to be nervous! And as soon as you clap eyes on Dirk you do in fact feel a little bit less on edge, so much so that you don’t really pay any mind to the other people in the hallway or indeed anything at all as you wrap yourself around him and apply an enthusiastic smooch to his his beautiful face. His smooth brown skin, so delicate and warm compared to yours, seeps steady comfort into you via your lips, via the one hand you capture in your own and squeeze ever so gently.

He tenses in response, but you can also feel his hand latching onto yours, the other one curling around the lapel of your jacket, and as he leans ever so very slightly into you, you know the gesture certainly isn’t unwelcome. It’s not that he doesn’t want you there; he’s just far too aware of himself, of what he may be giving away through his natural responses. It’s as if he thinks that if he’s not always guarding the floodgates of his mind, every single emotion of his will come rushing out unchecked, sweeping everything away in its path. You have to admit that this has been tricky to deal with at times, because you’re not exactly made for deciphering a whole system of delphic gestures and endless layers of coded doublespeak, such as what Dirk and his brother appear to use to express their feelings to each other. There have been some false starts and hurt feelings because of this, but you’d like to think that you’ve managed to sort it out without too much grief.

Thank goodness you’ve had some experience in that area already; when it comes to telling tricky customers to just come out and say what they mean, instead of expecting you to miraculously develop the ability to read minds, you’d say you’re the most basically competent fellow there is.

Speaking of your other tricky customer, you easily sweep the human off the floor for a moment so that you can move the both of you out of Eridan’s way. For a moment Dirk’s lips are right by your ear, and he murmurs, “Not fair,” in a barely audible undertone. The hand wrapped around your lapel gives it a pointed tug to make clear what he means, and what he thinks of you manhandling his person when you have far too much of an audience to do more than that. You feel a slight rush of blood to the edge of your fins, but nonetheless grin easily and poke your matesprit in the side with the tip of a claw, causing him to wince and draw back from you slightly.

“Jayquh, this-” he begins, and then he’s elbowed casually out of the way by a grinning tealblood, using her sturdier frame and sharp limbs the way someone would hammer a wedge into a crack.

“Sooo delighted to finally meet you,” she says, her voice a modulated cackle as she grasps your hand and gives it a violent shake. “Dirk has been kind of tiresome and cagey about you, acting like a secretive idiot, can you imagine? Well, of course you can. Anyway, I’m his Aunt Terezi – you should call me that too, of course. That’s just how humans do things.” You’re absolutely certain she doesn’t know and doesn’t care if this is actually how humans do things. But she’s older than you and has known Dirk for longer, so you’re not about to rock the proverbial water vessel.

“Well, I’m ever so chuffed to make your acquaintance, Aunt Terezi,” you reply, not actually rubbing your shoulder even though the way she’s _still_ shaking your hand is starting to make it go numb. Dirk rubs his temples, but doesn’t try to interfere. “I’m Jayquh, Dirk’s matesprit. And this is Eridan, my moirail.”

“Oh yes, Karkat’s art school friend, right?” She pushes her spectacles down, though you’re unclear why, because the moment she does it’s clear from her blank red vision spheres that she can’t possibly see anything with them. Even so, she manages to somehow skewer the both of you with her empty gaze, her grin seeming to grow even wider.

Eridan tilts her chin up haughtily, which you privately translate as a kneejerk response to being put on the spot so suddenly. “Well, I wouldn’t know about friend, but we shared some classes, and we’d talk about movies sometimes,” she says with a shrug, which defensiveness makes a lot stiffer than you’re sure was intended. “We haven’t really been in touch for a while.”

Well, it can be tricky to stay connected when one ages at a markedly different speed. Eridan is technically only a couple of years younger than Karkat, but the latter has already reached the stage in life that humans would refer to as ‘middle age’, while Eridan would from the same perspective have barely aged. Or to put it another way, Karkat is now close to Dave’s age in both years and (relative) maturity, while most people wouldn’t be able to tell who was the oldest between Eridan, you, or Dirk, if they were judging only by looks and life experience. You don’t think about it too much, because it’s hardly a barrel of laughs to remind yourself by exactly how much you’re likely to outlive Dirk, and anyway it doesn’t matter. You can tell that sometimes the whole thing is disconcerting to Dave, even after you’d assured him that you do in fact fall closer to Dirk’s age than Eridan’s, but now it seems as if you’re all manfully just avoiding the whole thorny subject altogether.

Which, again, is probably for the best.

A tall cerulean lady takes Terezi’s place, giving you a handshake which isn’t nearly as violent, but contains a bit more claws biting into the inside of your wrist than is strictly necessary. Since shaking hands has absolutely never been an important part of your species’ culture, you’d’ve thought that they were doing it for the benefit of the humans present, but you’re starting to think that they might just be employing it as an intimidation tactic. “I’m Vriska,” she says in a tone that suggests that there’s a silent ‘The’ in front of her name. “I’m not actually super interested in who you are, you seem pretty boring to me, but if you do anything to Dirk that I don’t like, I’ll glue your gills shut and chain you to the keel of a boat, okay?”

An escalating hiss behind you signals both Eridan’s visceral discomfort with the imagery as well as her perfectly natural instinct to defend her much meeker moirail. Without so much as an exchanged glance, both you and Dirk extend your arms to create a barrier between her and Vriska, and the thorough asskicking she would definitely receive at the older cerulean’s hands. Vriska just checks her nails with a self-satisfied smile, right up until her human companion lets out a loud snort and gives her a very pointed nudge in the ribs. “Vriska! You can’t just go around threatening Dirk’s boyfriend. I’m pretty sure that’s Dave’s job if anyone’s going to do it, involving like... humorous shotguns and stuff like that! But also it’s pretty stupid to act like Dirk can’t take care of himself anyway, so stop picking fights already and be nice.”

You manage an only slightly awkward chuckle and extend your hand to the final member of the trio. “And you would be Dirk’s Auntie June, I presume,” you say, because you _have_ in fact done your homework. “And, ah, Vriska’s moirail?”

“Uh, sorta? Not exactly.” She takes your hand and shakes it in a completely non-confrontational manner, laughing sheepishly. “All of that complicated stuff still goes over my head, if I’m to be honest. I’m just their girlfriend, who sometimes has to tell them they’re being weirdos and to stop scaring strangers. Or maybe more than just sometimes, because they’re just these huge scary weirdos pretty much all the time.” She rolls her eyes, and though you find what she just told you quite scandalous, the ease with which she says it somehow leaves you feeling a lot less flustered than expected. She’s a steadily built middle-aged woman with messy black hair and a pleasantly deep voice, and when she lets out a huge laugh it’s like she’s surrounded by this field of good-natured frankness, which immediately dispels all tension. “Anyway, it’s nice to finally meet you, Jayquh, and you too Eridan. I like your dress. Now, I’m just going to take these two and go outside before they come up with a great new way of being jerks just because.”

Terezi makes an amused little sound. “I’m _clearly_ being wrongfully accused, but I think maybe I’ll help you escort Vriska out anyway – because I’m a nice, caring aunt who doesn’t want Dirk to actually die from embarrassment on his bro-dad’s wedding day.” She pats his head in passing, giggling to herself, and then the three of them by degrees make it outside via a process you’d probably describe as choreographed bickering.

It’s not that you’re not relieved to have the breathing room, but they do leave the three of you in a pool of awkward silence, now that you no longer have to parry their auntly onslaught. You relax the chitin in your throat a smidgen, letting out an awkward scraping sound. Dirk seems to be slowly recovering from the whole ordeal, but he’s not quite there yet. He’d kind of frozen up a bit when things started getting out of hand, almost as if you’re not the only socially awkward wreck out of the two of you. You smile fondly, putting a light hand on his arm. You might buckle a lot easier under pressure, with about as much of a moral spinal column in face of outright conflict as your average mollusk, but Dirk absolutely doesn’t know how to cope with more chaotic interactions. That’s where you have the upper hand, you think a bit cynically, since the whole world is pretty much chaos as far as you’re concerned, and you’ve learned how to weather it. But Dirk… well, the moment in a social situation when making plans or logical decisions falls through, that’s when he first takes a stance like an antlerbeast caught in headlights, and then slowly retreats into himself.

Dirk inclines his head in an understated greeting, thereby acknowledging the third socially awkward wreck present in the hallway. “Eridan,” he says, voice cool but not outright hostile.

“Dirk.” You grimace slightly at the tension, because hoo boy you could definitely do without it, but it’s not like you can force them to like each other. “Thank you for havin us.”

“Hey, you’re both a pleasant summer breeze compared to-” he gestures vaguely at the door “-some of the other people I’m having. A break from insanity. An oasis in a sea of demented aunts, neurotic grooms, and assorted assholes.” He glances a bit awkwardly at your moirail. “He-day or she-day?” he asks bluntly, because you suppose picking up those signals doesn’t come as easily to most people.

Eridan rolls her eyes. “What does it _look_ like?”

“Hey, I know what it looks like. That ain’t necessarily the same thing.”

You catch a glimpse of reluctant appreciation in the way your moirail’s mouth relaxes slightly, not that she acknowledges it at all. “She, if you please.”

“Lit,” Dirk says, ever the poet. “Listen, I’ve gotta go check if Dave’s about to be ready any time soon, and give Jaedel some backup if he’s having a meltdown or something. Can you do me a fucking favor and tag along, please? I’d like to know where to find you without having to wade up to my ass through the goddamned psychological war zone that’s happening out there.”

You smile, because honestly you hadn’t much relished facing the rest of the crowd without him either. Judging by the ever so faint, ghostly half-smile that graces his lips for just a second, you think that maybe he knows as much. You take his hand and kiss his knuckles solemnly, causing him to stiffen slightly in the particular brand of shocked stillness that Dave had gleefully referred to as ‘gay blue screen of death’ on a previous occasion. “Anything for you, my scarlet sweetheart,” you sing-song. Dirk gives you an almost pleading look, but he also wraps his hand around yours once again and gives it a squeeze. Behind you, Eridan lets out an exasperated little whir, but doesn’t comment.

“Absolutely disgusting,” Dirk remarks, voice not quite as flat as he’s clearly trying to make it. “But okay, fine, I’ll take it. Just… try to hang back once we get there, okay? If my bro’s being a high-strung fuck, it’s going to take some careful handling.” You place a prong across your lips in a theatrical display of silence, and Eridan helpfully mutters something about how she’s going to strangle you with your own bow tie if you even breathe too loudly. “Damn, that’s about as reassuring as it gets. A straight-up horse tranquilizer to my fluttering nerves.” Another of his brief not-quite-smiles. “Come along already.”


End file.
